The Follower
by Lemon Zinger
Summary: John: Which is worse, a serial killer or an assassin? Sherlock: Both are a lot of fun. Why do you ask? John: I'm being followed... What started as a silly conversation with Azolean spawned this.
1. Chapter 1

*One new text message*

From: John

Which is worse, a serial killer or an assassin?

From: Sherlock

Both are a lot of fun. Why do you ask?

From: John

Oh just curious since someone is following me

From: Sherlock

What does he look like?

From: John

He's tall and armed.

From: Sherlock

Are there any tattoos or markings on him?

From: John

Not that I see. He's got long sleeves.

From: Sherlock

Hair color?

From: John

Dark. Can't really see if it's brown or black.

From: Sherlock

It's probably nothing but your imagination.

From: John

I've made four right turns. He's still following me.

From Sherlock

Have you tried running?

From: John

You are no help, you know that? I'm just going to call Lestrade.

From: Sherlock

Now wait a minute! He might have some information!

From: John

Shut up

Ring, ring, ring…

"Hello, Lestrade." He answered as he made his way home after a long day of work.

"Lestrade? I'm being trailed." The voice on the other end sounded a bit anxious.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "John is that you?"

"Yes, someone is following me. I don't know who it is."

"Where are you?" Lestrade asked.

"Oxford." The moment John replied Lestrade changed directions and began to head towards the road.

"See any cabs?"

"None, and I wouldn't trust one at this point."

"I see your point. What direction are you heading?"

"West, getting near to Baker Street." Lestrade made a sharp right turn, offering a mild curse at the woman that he cut off when she honked at him.

"How far back are they?" Lestrade asked.

"I don't know, maybe fifteen meters."

"I'll be there in a moment. Run." Lestrade ordered, adrenaline making his heart race.

John hung up the phone and broke into an easy jog, glancing behind him, he noted his follower had struck up an even faster pace. He pushed himself even farther and ran headlong towards Baker Street. He felt his pursuer gaining on him and just as he crossed the road a car came out without stopping and hit his stalker, sending him sprawling in the road. It wasn't a very hard hit, just enough to stop him. John stopped and panted as he sent a smile at Lestrade.

The oncoming traffic had stopped before crushing the man Lestrade had hit, and a cab driver sat mouthing what was probably very colorful language at them.

"Where did you learn to drive?!" Came an angry grumble as none other than Sherlock Holmes got up from the pavement and stumbled towards them, adjusting his scarf.

Lestrade got out of his car, staring at Sherlock in disbelief before looking at John, who was also gaping at the detective.

"You think this is funny?" John demanded, angry.

"I was testing you!" Sherlock said. "I wanted to know what your reaction would be!"

Lestrade slammed his door shut and stormed over. "Well, I don't know how John did, but here – " with that he punched Sherlock in the face, knocking him to the ground again " – is my response."

John smiled at Lestrade. "Sorry about this."

"Oh no, call any time. Are you aware Mr. Holmes I can arrest you for disturbing the peace? However it would be a punishment to me to have to deal with you." Lestrade said, sending John a friendly nod. "However, if you would like to press charges or file a restraining order…"

John laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sherlock had finally regained his feet again and was glaring at them both. "A fine way to thank me for trying to make sure you are prepared for such an event." He muttered.

John went over and began to help him home. "Good evening Lestrade."

"Good evening." Lestrade replied, getting back in his car and heading home.

As the inspector drove on he looked back to see John helping the detective home. He wondered briefly how a man like Sherlock Holmes had made friends with a man like John Watson.


	2. Chapter 2

*One new text message*

From: Sherlock

Really? Confetti bombs?

From: John

It's payback for the salt in the sugar jar!

From: Sherlock

That was revenge for your saran wrap on the toilet!

From: John

That was for your ridiculous stunt the other night!

From: Sherlock

I was trying to make sure you were prepared!

From: John

I was a soldier for goodness sakes!

* * *

_Two hours later_

From: John

This is low.

From: Sherlock

Hardly. This is rather mild considering some of the things I could do to you.

From: John

Dying my dress shirt pink?

From: Sherlock

It was supposed to be more pastel

From: John

This is it. You are going to regret the day you were born Sherlock Holmes!

John tossed down his phone with an angry growl and looked at his ruined shirt. Glaring at the floorboards towards where he knew he companion to be lurking below he began to smile as he thought up a plan. Being in the army had given him a wide variety of pranking material. This was pretty far-fetched, but would bring adequate satisfaction to him and several other people that were well deserving of some revenge.

*One new text message*

From: John

Meet me at 221b at 10:30.

From: Lestrade

Texting for Sherlock again? What is it now?

From: John

No, I have a gift for you. Bring Donovan and Anderson too

From: Lestrade

I'm very curious.

From: John

You won't be disappointed. I need a few supplies though.

From: Lestrade

What do you need?

From: John

Have Donovan bring the little black bag she carries…

* * *

Sherlock hadn't even noticed the sleeping aid John had snuck into his dinner. He had eaten in between sending little smiles in John's direction. It was all John could do to play the part of someone that was deeply upset and still struggling to think of appropriate ways to pay him back.

Sherlock had fallen asleep rather quickly afterwards and after a few tests involving pots and wooden spoons, John was satisfied.

Inviting his friends upstairs, he displayed the detective sprawled out on the couch in an undignified manner.

Donovan looked at him with a wicked smile. "Anything goes?" She asked.

"Anything. As much as we can." John said.

Two hours and about sixty photos later, Sherlock had had undergone just about every silly trick they could think of. Holmes had had various objects protruding from his nose and ears. He had had makeup designed to add some femininity to him or to make him look like a clown. His hair had received various new styles and they left him with a Mohawk and dark gothic makeup.

Afterwards, they spent a little over an hour uploading the pictures to John's website before they finally said good night.

* * *

The next morning John rose late and then he smiled as he remembered the night's events. He glanced at his phone, wondering if anything had been said about it yet. There were no messages at all from Sherlock. He wondered if he was even awake, though he knew the sedative would've worn off by now.

Grinning with delight, he went down into the sitting room to find Sherlock sitting on the couch. His face had been cleaned and his hair washed. He didn't look up at John, just sat there glaring at the computer in his lap.

John suddenly felt the first tug of guilt on his conscious. It had been a dirty prank, and he knew it. He bit his lip. "Sherlock…"

"What can you possibly have to say to me?" Sherlock asked, looking up at him with the most unusually expression. It was almost as if he didn't care. "Didn't get all your cracks in last night? Didn't get all the satisfaction of having a go at me with your new friends?"

"Sherlock, I… I'm sorry…" John realized he truly was sorry. He had never intended for things to go so far, but he'd been caught up in the excitement. Now he realized this had gotten way out of hand.

"Well, in answer to your question from last night, I find doctors who misuse their medical knowledge far worse than either assassins or serial killers." He hissed as he grabbed his scarf, flung it around his neck, and left.

* * *

Well THIS took an unexpected detour... Yipe!


End file.
